Leaving

17th September 2021

I'm staring up at the departure board. There are four flights listed. Adrian notes that our usual spot in the small waiting area has been taken. I'm staring at the first flight on the board, the three o'clock flight to Oslo. It's two fifty six right now. I dig out my phone and quickly check my digital boarding pass. Departure time, fifteen hundred hours, it says. I don't believe it. That's my flight. I am going to miss my flight. We've just walked off the bus to the airport, thinking I had an hour before takeoff. 

I blurt incoherently to Adrian that the three o'clock flight is mine. He asks me if I'm sure. I nod and then hurriedly apologise. I hadn't double checked the flight time, somehow thinking it was forty minutes later. It's my fault. I tiptoe up to kiss Adrian goodbye before I dash to the gate. Only I can't kiss him. We're both wearing masks. He tells me to go, no last hug, and I hurry off. 

The queue at security at this small airport is long and slow moving. Usually I breeze through. I stand in line thinking what the hell I am going to do. I have two minutes before my plane is due to leave. If I don't make it, I miss my connecting flight to England, meaning I'd have to rebook flights, losing money and gaining a bucket load of stress. I glance around. I look back and see Adrian standing there. I shrug, helpless and alone. 

Suddenly, an airport employee is shouting at me, something about the flight to Oslo. I turn around and she gestures to me to follow her. I duck under the steel barrier, but not low enough. I hit my head on the metal bar. Ouch. I try again, knowing everyone in the queue is watching me.

I'm sped through security, but set off the detector as I walk through. Finally, I'm free to continue, only to struggle squeezing my media pad back into my bag. I clutch my phone and fleece and jog after the woman who has saved me. She is angry. I apologise, saying how I'd misread the departure time. I arrive at the gate and my boarding pass won't scan. Another woman asks me my name and there is more confusion before she tells me I can go out to the plane. 

I rush outside and up the stairs to the plane. I apologise again to the waiting cabin crew and then am told I need to change my mask. I'm handed a new one. As soon as I slide one strand of the mask around one ear, the mask pops free. It's mortifying. The male flight attendant is most likely thinking what an idiot I am, unable to put a mask on. 

Now I have to walk the full length of the plane to my seat, everyone looking at me as I pass. I reach my allocated seat only to find it occupied. There are two empty seats behind my row. Instead of causing more delays and disruption, I ask the flight attendant if it's OK if I sit in the empty seat as mine is taken. She says Yes.

I sit down, shoving my bag under the seat in front, click my seat belt on, relieved I made the flight, not as embarrassed as I would have expected, and utterly devastated I didn't get a proper goodbye with Adrian. No last hug and kiss goodbye, no final wave to him after I passed through security and now I won't see him again for at least three months.